


Wires Crossed

by robocryptid



Series: Fandom Trumps Hate Gifts [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: When Genji gets injured and Angela isn't around, it's Lúcio's job to patch him up. A slip of the hand leads to reactions Genji's body has never had.
Relationships: Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada
Series: Fandom Trumps Hate Gifts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759759
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/gifts).



> For blooming for her donation to [RAINN](https://rainn.org/) for Fandom Trumps Hate 2020.

“Where is Angela?” Genji asks first thing. He trusts Lúcio to manage the basics, but Angela is the one who has healed and repaired this body for years now. She  _ designed  _ it. Perhaps more importantly, she has already seen it in its worst condition. With her, there is nothing that requires exposing all his vulnerabilities to someone new. 

“She shipped out on the Accra mission this morning.” 

Lúcio isn’t stupid. Between the two of them, he is almost definitely the smarter one. So Genji doesn’t really expect him to buy it, but he has to try: “I don’t want to inconvenience you. It can wait.”

Lúcio’s eyebrow raises. “Really.” It doesn’t even sound like a question.

“Really.”

“I get it. I’m new. It’s hard to let somebody new look you over.” Genji flinches, grateful he still has his mask on to hide it. He’s sure Lúcio means that this is a problem that is common, something that anyone could feel, but it hits too close to home. Lúcio continues, “But it’s my job. It’s what I came here to do. I promise I’ve seen all kinds of stuff.” Lúcio licks his lower lip, then traps it between his teeth, thoughtful, like he’s considering his next words carefully. “I know a lot of people with prosthetics, cybernetics, you name it. I know what I’m doing, and it can’t be much different from what I’ve seen before.”

Genji is too conscious of the way his body vents the air when he sighs. But he concedes, if only because Lúcio is beginning to look less concerned for his welfare and more miffed by his rejection. “I suppose it will not hurt.” 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Lúcio says wryly. For a moment, Genji wonders if he offended him, but Lúcio’s smile is loose and relaxed. Although it is asking too much to ask Genji to relax fully, that smile does calm him enough to get him on the exam table, legs swinging in front of him before he stills himself. “So what’s the problem?”

“Something is… catching? In my hip. It feels like it is…” Genji lets out a frustrated vent of air. Describing any of it would be hard enough in his own language, even without the added self-consciousness of a new person scrutinizing his body, and it is made all the more difficult by the translation. It isn’t simply the switch from his native tongue to another, but the lack of  _ any  _ language for what his body is and how it moves. 

Lúcio seems to sense his struggle. Mercifully, he suggests, “Maybe you could show me what causes it? What you’re doing when you feel it?”

Genji nods, grateful, as he slips down from the table again. Trying not to look at Lúcio or think too hard about how he is very much not Angela, who has done this for so long that she has managed to transcend all his notions of boundaries or shame, Genji slowly extends one leg back, pushing into something not far removed from a lunge, until he feels the slip and catch of the mechanism in his hip. “This?”

“I’m gonna touch you now,” Lúcio says, but he waits for a nod before he does, settling his hands on both Genji’s hips. “Do it again?”

He shifts his weight then drops into the modified lunge again. Lúcio is too close, warm where they’re touching, and it sets something fluttering in Genji’s stomach, heat flooding downward, neither of which are things that happen when it’s Angela doing this. He thinks he might be blushing hard enough that he should be fogging up his visor by the time Lúcio urges him to stand straight again.

As soon as Lúcio lets go, Genji escapes back to the exam table, putting as much space between them as possible. If Lúcio’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. Instead he says, “It’s your hip flexor. If it were organic, I’d just say you’re getting old, man.” He smiles then, a flash of teeth that makes Genji feel nearly as flustered as he did with Lúcio’s hands on him. “You know, tell you what stretches to do, that kind of thing. Lucky you, that’s something we can actually fix.”

He moves away then, which gives Genji some time to compose himself again. When Lúcio returns, it’s with a tablet and a holo projection of the schematics of Genji’s body from ribs to knees. Once again, he is struck by how much more uncomfortable this is with someone new. 

“From what I’m seeing, this looks like it’s gonna hurt unless you want me to cut off the sensation for a few minutes.” 

Genji hates when they numb him, hates feeling like he has no control over his own body. He also hates the idea of reacting to the pain where Lúcio can see or hear it. “Whatever you think is best,” he says after a moment, grateful that he at least managed not to mumble. 

Lúcio’s eyebrow twitches like he has some thoughts about that, but he doesn’t say anything beyond, “Alright. Numb it is. Lie down for me.”

Genji is not a terrible patient, really. He has been in enough hospitals and medical labs to last several lifetimes. He knows how to be still, and he takes instructions well. It’s just that they usually aren’t coming from someone he is this attracted to. He closes his eyes and lies on his stomach, breathing through the strangeness that is Lúcio’s fingers skimming down the plating that covers his artificial spine. He finds the small panel hidden near the base of it, releasing some of the protective shell, then he begins carefully inspecting the wires. It feels odd at first, as it always does, then Genji feels nothing at all from the midsection down. He resists the urge to look over his shoulder and watch while Lúcio opens more panels and begins making minor adjustments.

It’s bizarre to be so detached from his body, even now, so many years later. It’s strange to hear Lúcio working, to know that it is Genji’s hips and thighs and lower back that he’s manipulating, but to feel absolutely none of it beyond the time he helps Genji roll onto his back and then return to his stomach, because that requires the cooperation of his upper body, too. 

In truth it doesn’t take very long, however strange the experience might be. “I think that’s it,” Lúcio says. “Ready to find out?”

Genji nods and braces himself for what he knows is always a breathtaking process. There’s a quiet clink, and then it begins, his nerves reactivating, a feeling so inexplicable that  _ pain  _ is somehow the only word that describes it and also fails entirely to capture the experience. It’s pins and needles through his whole body, radiating from his spine outward, bright sensation followed by near euphoric relief anywhere comparatively less overwhelmed. 

It’s over almost as soon as it begins, and he shudders as he stabilizes. Lúcio’s hand is on his hip, thumb rubbing a distracting circle along his lower back. It is probably intended to be soothing, if it’s even a conscious action, but it only makes Genji have to hold back another shudder. “You alright?” Lúcio asks.

“Yes.”

Lúcio hums thoughtfully as if he knows that would be Genji’s answer regardless of the truth. He doesn’t argue, though, only gets his hands back inside the bundle of wires. “Almost done, then we can see—” He cuts himself off abruptly when his finger slips and Genji’s hips twitch against the table, a quiet sound wrung from his throat. 

He freezes, and he senses that Lúcio has done the same above him. It’s mortifying. The heat sits pooled between his legs. That has never happened before. Worse, he wants to ask Lúcio to do it again. Instead he lies as still as he can, pretending that both of them don’t know exactly what just happened. 

He hears Lúcio take a quick breath and murmur, “Sorry.” Which would be all well and good, except that he does it again.

Electricity zips up Genji’s spine, a wave of heat washes over his body, and his hips shift again, entirely out of his control. His face would be the hottest part of him if he couldn’t feel his cock throbbing between his legs, digging into his armor like it could puncture the table beneath him. He doesn’t know if he made a noise this time, but he doesn’t think it matters. 

“I’m so— I’m  _ so  _ sorry,” Lúcio says quickly. “I promise I didn’t mean to—” 

“It is fine,” Genji grits out. 

“I’ll just… avoid… I didn’t even know that could happen.” Lúcio breathes out sharply, followed by a jittery laugh. “I mean, guess it makes sense? The nervous system is, um, very complex even without augmentation, and there’s a lot, uh, connected to your—” It happens again, warmth flooding his body and sensation skittering across his nerves, his cock hard as a rock and hips rutting into the cushioned table entirely out of his control. He whimpers, a sound wrought from something that is half desire, half sheer embarrassment. “Oh God,” Lúcio says, voice laced with some small portion of the humiliation Genji feels. 

He carefully pries his fingers loose from where they have sunk deep into the cushioning. There’s a hole where the metal tips pushed too hard, and the rest is dented from the pressure. “It’s alright,” he says through his teeth. “This has never… It’s alright.”

Lúcio finishes the rest without further incident, but Genji is hesitant to sit up, to look him in the eye. It feels too cowardly, though, so he forces himself to move, grateful for how much the suit hides. There is no outward evidence that he is still turned on, some part of him desperate to ask Lúcio to do it again. When he manages to turn, Lúcio is several feet away, cheeks dark and eyes darting away from him. 

Great. Genji has managed to embarrass him too. He wonders how long it will be before Lúcio stops thinking of him as the guy who tried to fuck the table.

“Does your, um. Does your hip feel better?” Lúcio asks, looking just past his ear instead of at him. 

He almost forgot what he came here for in the first place. He takes a few shaky steps, but he doesn’t feel any catching, any twitches, anything out of the ordinary. All he feels is the erection pressing insistently against the inside of his plating. “Great,” he says almost breathlessly, even though that should not be possible with these lungs.

He flees as soon as he is able, leaving Lúcio standing with his tablet held in front of him, not quite looking Genji’s way. He has no plans to go anywhere but his room. He cannot reach his own wiring, nor does he have any idea what Lúcio did so differently from Angela that  _ that  _ was his reaction, but he absolutely has the ability to address his problem the old fashioned way.

It has been a long time since he was compelled to even this much, but even a cyborg has his needs. He imagines Lúcio climbing the table to slide between his legs, pinning his shoulders so that he can only lie there, helpless to move while Lúcio fucks him at his own luxurious pace. It would be one thing if that was all there was to it, but when he comes, he’s thinking of bottomless dark eyes and the shape of Lúcio’s smile.

* * *

Genji spends the better part of two weeks avoiding sharing a room with Lúcio. He knows exactly how stupid he is being, and yet, a single glimpse or the barest echo of his laughter will inevitably assault Genji with the memory of lying on that table, his entire body on fire and out of his control. If he is especially unlucky, he might also remember the fantasy that came after. Fortunately he has a lifetime of training he can rely on to move about undetected. He thinks sometimes about the many shames he has brought upon his family, and he thinks that for once he might agree: he  _ is  _ squandering his considerable talents by putting them to use for something so absurd, and so cowardly.

The mission in Kosovo puts an end to his avoidance. Lúcio is part of the excursion, for one, and it is difficult to ignore that they work well together, if only because Lúcio’s willingness to dive headfirst into the enemy with him surpasses even Angela’s. Genji thinks it might even be fun, if not for the very real threat those enemies pose. A single misstep is all it takes.

Genji’s body takes a beating, no matter how quick he is, and the last enemy agent standing gets off a shot that makes something spark in his knee. The leg refuses to hold. It’s Lúcio who takes the agent out, before he turns to brace Genji at his side. He is smaller and slighter, but he is strong, bearing far more weight than it seems he should be able to.

Carefully, they make it back to the team. Reinhardt spies them first, and it takes all Genji’s persuasive power to convince the giant that he does not need to be carried onto the drop ship. Lúcio’s arm tightens at his waist, and he adds, “We got this.”

Genji does not want to feel gratitude for the kindness, but he has no other word for the embarrassed warmth that follows the release of anxiety. He imagines Reinhardt carrying him bridal style, his useless leg dangling over one hulking forearm, and he knows he prefers Lúcio’s method to  _ that,  _ however many conflicting feelings it engenders. 

It is no better once they board. McCree descends on him, nagging as badly as Angela would. “You need to get that looked at pronto.” 

As if McCree has not hidden worse injuries. Behind the safety of his helmet, Genji rolls his eyes. “I will last until we return. Angela can fix it.”

“Got two medics right here and an hour flight. Least you can do is let somebody take a look, maybe let you walk to the medbay on your own.” McCree is looking at him strangely, as if he knows somehow that Genji is leaving out some important piece of the puzzle. 

It is this that makes him change course. He does not need any prying. He also does not need Captain Amari —  _ former  _ captain, he must remember — to be the one to do it. He isn’t sure he would survive the embarrassment if he had the same reaction to her as to Lúcio. So he shakes his head and mumbles, “If it is not too much to ask…”

“Of course not,” Lúcio assures him, wearing the tight professional smile he surely wears for everyone. There is an edge to it, though, an anxiety Genji might only be imagining; he is so certain that Lúcio is thinking the same thing he is. “Maybe away from prying eyes?” he asks more quietly. 

Genji is grateful for the mask to hide his embarrassment. “That would be better.”

Lúcio only nods and guides him toward the back of the Orca. There is a small space near the rear exit that will afford them some privacy. It won’t be the first time it has been used this way. Lúcio helps him onto a cot, then he punches in a command that drops a shimmering blue curtain between them and the rest of the ship. It is translucent, but at least it fills the sound of the engine and their team’s noise in the main cabin. 

Even with that precaution in place, Lúcio’s voice is quiet when he says, “I can, uh, be more careful this time.” He will not quite meet Genji’s eye, but that is preferable, really. It means Genji doesn’t have to avoid eye contact himself.

He sits on the cot while Lúcio consults with his tablet. Genji gets an upside down view of the diagram of his leg, complete with the notations Angela has left in tidy boxes to the side. Lúcio’s brow is crunched down over his eyes, and his tongue pokes out the side of his mouth the tiniest bit. It’s… well, Genji would prefer not to think about how cute it is just now. Somehow he fears that his distraction will translate to Lúcio’s distraction too, despite that this makes no sense. 

He is making up reasons to worry, mostly because he knows what happened the last time. Perversely, he can feel his body growing flushed, anticipating something that is unlikely to repeat itself. He jumps when Lúcio’s hand lands on the injured knee. 

“That doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No.” Genji shakes his head too, despite that it is hardly necessary.

“Okay, well, I have to, uh…” Lúcio is avoiding eye contact again, but he drops to his knees in front of Genji, and that explains it all well enough. “I’m going to remove this panel, and then we’ll…”

“It’s fine,” Genji grits out, growing impatient with Lúcio’s hesitation. Every stutter and stumble is a reminder that he is the one who made this awkward to begin with; it is unfair to take it out on Lúcio, then, but his agitation has nowhere else to go. 

With a brisk nod, Lúcio gets to work, fingers deftly searching out the release for the panel on Genji’s thigh. It unlatches with a soft sigh. Lúcio stares intently back and forth between the tablet and the wires, and Genji can practically hear him praying that he does not cause another reaction like the last one. 

He probably cannot help the way his hands feel on Genji’s thigh; the touch is surely meant to be professional, not too harsh, but it is easy enough to imagine it as intentionally gentle. Genji tamps down on his imagination as quickly as he can; this is awkward enough without letting his head get in the way. He forces himself to look away, and he shuts his eyes, hoping that this will be over with quickly.

He can barely feel whatever it is that Lúcio is doing, although he is aware, distantly, of the way his leg suddenly becomes looser so that Lúcio can work putting pieces back into place. Every minor adjustment makes Genji’s nerves twitchier, but it isn’t as if he can escape now. Some parts of his body won’t be able to move until Lúcio puts him back together. 

It goes smoothly enough, he thinks, although by the time he feels Lúcio slotting each piece back into place, he is anxious enough that he may as well be buzzing with it. Lúcio digs into the panel on his thigh again, and Genji twitches with nerves, despite that there is no good reason to. 

Lúcio is gentle enough as he begins, and Genji really begins to believe it might be over soon. That is of course when the Orca lurches, some turbulence yanking the whole craft slightly off track. Lúcio’s hand trembles, and sensation skitters across Genji’s skin. Synthetic nerves suddenly buzz, and his breath catches. 

Lúcio’s fingers pause what they are doing, but he doesn’t look at Genji, and he doesn’t apologize this time. He redoubles his efforts, but when they slip again, Genji’s hips twitch this time, far too close to the handsome face between his legs. His metal fingers curl around the edge of the cot, and he tries to think of anything except what is happening to him right now. It is a difficult task, made all the more so when the feeling hits again, his nerve endings suddenly sparking at every minor movement of Lúcio’s hands.

“God, I’m so—” Lúcio cuts himself off, a noise escaping that sounds like a desperate laugh. “Sorry,” he mutters as he recovers, and he finally slips the panel back into place. 

“Don’t… don’t worry about it,” Genji assures him, wondering if it is possible for his face to explode into flames.

“Dr. Ziegler didn’t, um, warn me about this.”

“It’s fine,” Genji insists for what feels like the millionth time. All he wants now is for this embarrassment to end, and he will do anything to make that happen.

Lúcio seems to have something on the tip of his tongue, but he ultimately straightens. “Sorry again. But you should be able to walk now, at least.” He lingers longer than Genji might, if their roles were reversed, but that may have everything to do with clinging to the last of his professionalism. He still has to ensure that Genji is doing well enough to be left alone.

Genji takes a few uneasy steps for Lúcio’s sake, and then the medic darts off to the main cabin at the first opportunity. It’s for the best, Genji assures himself, because anything more would only humiliate them both. He is unsure why the thought makes his stomach hurt.

* * *

It is only a few days later that Genji receives the knock at his door. When he answers, Lúcio is standing on the other side, cheeks dark. Genji feels his own eyes go wide; they are friendly, certainly, but not close like this. 

“Can I come in?” Lúcio asks, and it is difficult to say no to him, even with anticipation crawling beneath Genji’s skin. The door is not even closed before Lúcio screws up his courage and looks at Genji directly. “I asked Angela about it,” he offers bluntly. Genji feels the flush hot on his face, and this time he has no mask to hide behind. “I hope that’s alright. Doctor-patient stuff, you know, nobody’s gonna gossip about it. But I had to know, and she said… well, she said it shouldn’t have happened, but that if it did, there was maybe some part that was… not just physiological.” 

There is a long pause while Genji absorbs what it is that Lúcio is implying. When it sinks in, he wonders briefly how long he could disappear before Overwatch would come looking for him again. “So you are here because… you thought I should have this information?” he guesses, although even he can sense that it is hardly adequate.

Lúcio laughs at him outright, although he still seems slightly embarrassed. “No, I was gonna offer, uh.” He shrugs, and then he smiles cautiously. “Well, it’s lonely here, isn’t it? I was thinking more… we could… do that on purpose. If you wanted.” When Genji does not answer right away, Lúcio grows flustered. “I mean, I know that depends on Angela being  _ right,  _ and I hope you’re not mad I talked to her about it, but I was worried I was doing something wrong. I would like it, though. If you would like it too.”

It takes Genji far too long to process what that is intended to mean. When he realizes, he flushes deeply. It didn’t occur to him to think that Lúcio might find his reactions anything but embarrassing. Even now, it is hard to shake the sense that there is anything more than pity motivating this, but even he cannot delude himself so much. Lúcio wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it; he is kind, but he isn’t the sort to condescend, especially not over something like this.

He realizes he has taken too long to respond when Lúcio’s face begins to fall. Genji has spent so much time worried what Lúcio will think that he has hardly considered his own reaction, but he has learned to trust his own instincts sometimes, at least. “I would…” he starts, but it feels inadequate. Instead, he leans down, lips pressed clumsily to Lúcio’s, in the hopes that it will wipe away the frown beginning to form there.

Fortunately for them both, Lúcio is not nearly so hesitant nor so slow to figure things out. He kisses back, angling his head up until their mouths are fit together more firmly. It has been a long time since Genji has kissed anyone, but Lúcio doesn’t seem to mind his efforts. His fingers come to rest on either side of Genji’s face, stroking carefully as if he knows without speaking that even this much is overwhelming.

Genji’s insides feel strangely cold and hot at once. The fluttering in his stomach threatens to spread through the entirety of his body. Of all the indignities he has already suffered — already put Lúcio through, or put him through witnessing, at the very least — this might be the worst. He thinks he may start shaking if he is not careful, which is absurd; his body shouldn’t be capable of it, not anymore, not with all the enhancements. 

Genji breaks the kiss with a quiet hiss, and he shuts his eyes rather than see how Lúcio reacts. Some things are easy enough to recall, and he is assaulted by the many, many things his body suddenly wants, now that the option is available again. It may have been some time since he was last with someone, but his memory is a long one. 

There’s a thud of metal hitting the floor as he drops to his knees. His nose and mouth and fingertips work in tandem to push at the hem of Lúcio’s tank top, revealing a strip of dark skin over taut muscle. Genji nuzzles his way downward too, and he feels Lúcio’s cock perk up, nudging against his face even through his pants.

“Whoa,” Lúcio mumbles, “you don’t have to— we can go slower if—” But his fingers are already tangling in Genji’s hair, and his protests are only out of concern for Genji’s well-being.

“Do you want me to stop?” Genji asks, finally risking a glance up. Lúcio looks stunned, but his pupils are massive, swallowing up the rich brown of his irises until it is hard to see where one ends and one begins. He gives a distracted shake of his head, and Genji feels the thrill of it rock through his whole body, desire spiking hot in his stomach.

Lúcio’s pants are easy to get undone, to yank open until his cock springs free, thick and dark with blood. It’s hot and heavy on Genji’s tongue too, and they both moan quietly as Genji sucks down the head without any hesitation. He tries to take his time, he really does, but the first burst of salty bitter fluid on his tongue brings back dozens of memories, reminds him he used to love this, and he can’t help but screw his lips down further, savoring the weight of it, the way his lips stretch and pull around it, the way every noise from Lúcio’s mouth is one step closer to surrender. 

Lúcio is so polite too, fingers twitching reflexively but never pulling, never shoving. It’s  _ too  _ polite, too nice, when Genji would happily let him do anything he wants. He glances up again, and he reaches back, fingers closing over Lúcio’s to twist them tighter in his hair, to let him know it’s not just okay but is exactly what he wants. 

It takes some coaxing, some wordless communication because Genji is loath to let his cock go, but eventually Lúcio gets the picture. His fingers pinch and twist, nails dragging sharply across his sensitive scalp, until Lúcio has a fistful of Genji’s hair, holding tight as he gives a few hesitant thrusts. Genji swallows him down eagerly, moaning out his appreciation until Lúcio finally gives in and fucks into his mouth in earnest, straight down his throat. There’s no gag reflex in this body, nothing to stop him from taking everything he wants, and the fist in his hair doesn’t hurt, not even the bump of his nose against Lúcio’s abdomen, but he can feel tears burning the corners of his eyes anyway, some twisted up joy and desire overtaking his senses. 

Genji could do it for hours, he thinks, because his knees and thighs can’t get tired, can’t cramp up, and maybe his mouth can, but he  _ likes  _ that, likes the way his lips stretch and get too tight at the corners. But Lúcio doesn’t have his enhancements, and maybe Genji has not been very kind to him, pushing as hard as he does and as quickly. It seems like no time has passed at all before Lúcio’s hips try to stutter backward, some built in politeness left that makes him try to give warning. But Genji chases it anyway, sucking him down to the root, hands digging into his hips to hold him steady while he comes down Genji’s throat. 

Lúcio’s whole body trembles, hips twitching, but he doesn’t fight, lets Genji hold him in his mouth as long as he can, until he’s going soft and too sensitive to stay. “Shit,” Lúcio laughs. He sounds awed almost, and it fills some part of Genji with warm pride to know he hasn’t lost his touch. It fills him with something else, something he can’t name, when Lúcio drags him to his feet to kiss his swollen lips, licking the taste of himself out of Genji’s mouth. 

They don’t discuss it, whatever this is. There is too much else to do. Genji suspects that may have to come soon, but for now, he can do his best to enjoy himself. Lúcio makes it easy enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw this update twice, no you didn't! I definitely didn't run into a weird snag where AO3 wasn't updating it for me! :P
> 
> Thank you again to blooming for her generous donation to RAINN!

Genji is convinced his mouth is the prettiest part of him that remains, but the act of fellatio necessarily leaves his face exposed. If he closes his eyes and throws himself into the task, he can forget sometimes. It goes like this: Genji, on his knees, eyes shut. Sometimes Lúcio touches his face, and Genji flinches, but he never tells him to stop. Lúcio isn’t tracing his scars — he isn’t — but there are so many that it feels that way anyhow.

The callouses catch on the shiny webbing on his face, and the sensation fades in and out where the skin has knit itself too densely to feel much. Genji is sensitive, and yet not.

Sometimes they fuck in other ways. Lúcio has not forgotten how this began. He peels off parts of Genji’s body and digs his fingers in — into his back, into his thighs, manipulating the machinery that keeps him alive until he is shaking, currents racing up his spine, sparks in his fingertips. Lúcio fucks him in traditional ways too, rides him while Genji squeezes his eyes shut again, or slams his cock in deep and stays there, buried inside as he twists the wires that make Genji helplessly contract around him.

Sometimes when it’s over, Lúcio stays. The older brother, older cousin, community leader, medic — he is the responsible type. Conscientious. He makes sure Genji enjoys himself and hydrates, and he asks for feedback Genji doesn’t know how to give. Sometimes he asks if he should sleep over, but Genji doesn’t sleep like everyone else does. He sends him away, back to his own bed, because he doesn’t care to keep him awake.

“So that’s the thing, huh?” Lúcio asks. “We’re keeping it casual?”

 _Casual,_ as if Genji is capable of such a thing. He was, once. It’s the only thing he’s ever known how to do with a lover: no strings attached, nothing to hold him down or up. When he was younger, he had his reasons. Safety, trauma, selfishness, power. Desperation to be loved, and too much fear to accept more than the paltry substitutes of sycophants and conquests. He doesn’t know what his reasons are now.

Lúcio deserves an answer though, and he deserves more than the hollow echo of Genji’s battered heart. Genji nods, and Lúcio nods along, and they don’t discuss it again. It will be better in the long run.

* * *

“I have an idea,” Lúcio says with a grin. It’s so bright that it makes Genji’s stomach contract.

“What is it?”

“Well. An experiment.” The grin doesn’t falter as Lúcio lifts his sonic amplifier into view. “I wrote a new song.”

Genji doesn’t know what to make of any of this, but he cannot say no to Lúcio even if he wanted to. He sits still on his desk as Lúcio fiddles with the base of his spine. His fingers curl into fists in anticipation, heat already swirling. Lúcio has gotten too good at this now though; there are no longer accidents. The wires only do what they are supposed to, and Genji’s reaction is all in his head. Something fizzles strangely when Lúcio attaches the amplifier.

Then he turns the music on. It starts as a thrum, bass in his bones not unlike when he used to go dancing. Lúcio is watching his face, and Genji has to close his eyes again.

There’s another vibration then, something that makes his fingers twitch, and then his toes. It throbs through him, and he wonders if his insides are turning to jelly. Then there’s another, something that makes him hiss and seize, body wracked with sudden need, so urgent he can barely move.

He slumps forward into Lúcio, who catches him. “This a good thing, or…?”

His only answer is a half-accomplished nod and his mouth blindly seeking out Lúcio’s. Their lips slide together, wet and soft, and Lúcio tugs him forward, fitting between his legs. Genji wants to touch, wants to reach between them and feel Lúcio’s cock throbbing hot in his hand, but his fingers feel numb and his hands are shaking.

The music chases up and down his spine, settles hot between his legs, pulsing within him in a way he cannot possibly describe. He’s had a vibrator inside him before, nudged up to his prostate and driving him wild, and it’s like that almost, except there’s nothing there, no shape or texture to ground him to reality. He can feel his hips twitching, body trying to clench around something that isn’t there, and he sobs into Lúcio’s mouth, lips trembling before they part for his hungry tongue.

He pulls away from the kiss, forehead lolling against Lúcio’s. “I need…” he mumbles, unable to even finish the sentence, but somehow with fumbling hands and the pathetic sounds he makes, he manages to communicate. Lúcio does the work, pulls at armor and their clothing until he can yank Genji forward to the edge of the desk, cock pushing solid and thick where Genji was empty and aching before.

He’s barely any help at all, he knows it. He tries to focus on Lúcio’s hands skimming over his hips and up his waist, tries to grind forward against him, but the tiny tremors wrack his body, leaving him breathless and helpless to do anything but cling.

It’s overwhelming. The music pounds in his head and his body, leaves him numb or tingling or shaking, and he isn’t sure how to react, how to do anything but _feel_ as his body works around Lúcio’s cock, the only thing grounding him to some sense of reality. His palms itch and his head feels full of rocks and he doesn’t want it to end, ever. He sobs when he comes, lurching forward against Lúcio’s mouth to muffle the sound.

He knows Lúcio is close when his mouth tears away, when his face shoves into Genji’s neck instead and he lets go, hauling Genji’s hips against him so hard they both nearly tumble over.

After, Lúcio switches off the amplifier, and he touches Genji’s face. This time he _is_ tracing the scars, and he looks dazed. His eyes are dark and beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful, with sweat at his hairline and a dopey smile on his mouth. Something coils anxiously inside Genji.

“Good?” Lúcio asks.

“Good.” Genji can still barely summon a nod.

“Good,” Lúcio repeats with a laugh, and his fingers haven’t stopped, they’re still on Genji’s cheek and then the shell of his ear, one of the places he _is_ still sensitive, which Lúcio figured out weeks ago and has not stopped exploiting. There’s a question there on Lúcio’s face, and it twists and tangles with the sensation until Genji has to shrug his hand away.

Lúcio’s quick to stop touching then. He’s always quick to respond, quick to ask, quick to check in. Genji wonders if he’s the type that’s quick to fall, too.

The thought feels like ice in his stomach. He doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be, but he knows what the dazed look on Lúcio’s face might be, what the thing is that lurks in his smile and his pretty eyes and the way he has learned Genji’s body.

His eyes squeeze shut again, and he twitches away when Lúcio’s hand tries to touch his face once more. “You okay?” Lúcio asks.

“Fine.” He’s afraid to open his eyes. He knows what he will see. He doesn’t need Lúcio’s concern or his kindness or his reminders that Genji is something strange and fragile. He doesn’t know how to lie to him, either, so he grits his teeth and tenses, waiting for Lúcio to figure out on his own that he should move away.

“You sure, man?”

It’s too soft, too nice, and the thing clawing inside Genji tells him he no longer wants soft or nice. _“Casual,”_ he snaps. “We agreed.”

There is a long silence, but at least Lúcio pulls away. It feels less stifling without the weight off his body. It feels colder too.

“And you think this is… what, too much?” Lúcio asks. “I… listen, I was just trying something new. Doesn’t have to mean anything.” When Genji opens his eyes, Lúcio has his hands up, signaling that he means no harm. But Genji knows better than to believe that has any bearing on how much damage Lúcio can do. He isn’t sure what is written on his face, but whatever it is makes Lúcio’s brows draw down, nose scrunched up, the closest to mean Genji has ever seen him. It still isn’t very close, but it _is_ novel. “Alright. Okay.” Lúcio laughs, but it’s not really a laugh at all. He tugs his clothing back into place. “I’m gonna go. I don’t know— I’m just gonna go.”

Genji watches him leave with a pit in his stomach, and he tells himself it is for the best.

* * *

_Alright. Guess we need space._

Genji stares at the text message, the same as he has for the past several days. It isn’t the first Lúcio sent since then. That one is just above it, reading, _Are we gonna talk about this?_

Genji knows he did this. He took something nice and twisted it up all wrong.

It eats at him in ways he did not expect, but he should have. The pain of loss is obvious enough; he misses Lúcio. Held at arm’s length or not, it was nice to have someone around. It was nice to be reminded he could be desired.

He tells himself that these are selfish reasons, that Lúcio is better off without him anyway, but it doesn’t banish the miserable pit in his stomach.

A thought recurs from time to time. It’s a voice in Genji’s head, the one that sounds like his father. It tells him that he is the same foolhardy, self-indulgent child he has always been. What he did to Lúcio was no different than what he used to do, long ago. How far has he come only to end up back here?

Despite the mask, despite that Genji thinks he is behaving no differently, Zenyatta asks what is troubling him. Zenyatta always sees through him. Genji doesn’t know how to tell him anything but the truth.

“It is interesting that you hear your father’s voice,” Zenyatta says when Genji has finished.

There is quiet between them while Genji chews on that. His father did not understand him. He knew it as a young man, then he grew uncertain, but now he knows it to be true again. But it _is_ true that he has repeated old habits. He doesn’t understand the connection. “Why?”

“You told me you thought he was cruel. Perhaps you characterize your own thoughts that way.”

Genji snorts. So what if he is being cruel to himself? “They’re still _true.”_

“Are they?”

Genji doesn’t have an answer for that. His gut says yes, of course it is the same, but Zenyatta doesn’t push without reason. If he’s cryptic, he wants Genji to figure it out for himself. He knows better than to ask Zenyatta why he should care about being cruel to himself; the answer will be the same, that he cannot heal if he continues to wound himself. What that means for his belief that his father would be right in this instance, he does not know.

He spends time on the cliffs with Zenyatta. He meets Angela for tea, and he pesters her at night when he knows she should be sleeping. He keeps McCree company while his old friend drinks. Sometimes he attempts to communicate with his brother. These are the same things he has done since Overwatch reformed, yet now he can sense Lúcio’s absence in every activity.

 _Space,_ Lúcio said. Genji tries to honor it. He tries to honor Zenyatta’s implication that he should not be cruel to himself either. The longer it persists, the more he believes it is impossible to do both at once.

There are times he cannot do either. They have regular meetings, training, missions. Lúcio tactfully avoids eye contact whenever possible, and he still smiles for everyone, but his smile for Genji is tight at the corners, his gaze distant and unknowable.

It rubs the wrong way every time. He doesn’t own Lúcio’s smile, but it seems he has taken that for granted too.

It ends, as it started, in the medbay.

Angela is on another mission. Her Valkyrie suit gets more use than it did before. Whether it is the sparse personnel or some internal motivation, Genji does not know. He knows that he hates it, for reasons both selfish and compassionate.

The selfish reason is that it means Lúcio is the one working when Genji hauls McCree in by all but the scruff of his neck.

“He’s sick,” Genji announces without ceremony.

“’m fine, just… been workin’ hard lately,” McCree complains, batting at Genji’s hands.

“I can feel your fever even through my armor. You’re sick.”

“You _are_ flushed,” Lúcio says. He is awkward, keeping McCree between them. “Better get on the table. I don’t wanna have to kick your ass while you’re wimpy.”

McCree snorts, but he sways on his feet when Genji releases him, so it seems he has no choice but to comply. Genji succeeded at getting McCree here. His job is finished. He doesn’t know why he stays then.

Lúcio’s hands are swift and sure as he checks McCree’s vitals, confirming fever and dehydration, listening to the rattle of his nasty cough. “Surprised you haven’t fainted, man. I’ll get you some of the good stuff, but you’ve gotta hydrate and get some rest.” His tone is sharper than usual, demanding to be taken seriously, and McCree nods, sheepish now that they’ve caught him out. Lúcio turns on Genji, and for once his expression isn’t so complicated. “And you? No symptoms?”

“None. You know I don’t—”

“I know.” Lúcio glances quickly away. “Still gotta ask. Just in case.”

Whatever he has concluded about his patient’s condition, he deems it safe enough for McCree to return to his own room, albeit loaded down with medicine and a bottle of electrolyte water. Genji lingers again.

“Still here, huh?” Lúcio asks. “Did you need something?” His hands are moving restlessly, giving away his nerves. Genji prefers to see Lúcio in his element: certain, confident, conscientious of others. He doesn’t like this strange, withdrawn version. He likes it less knowing he is the cause.

He doesn’t know how to begin. The safest route he can find is to say, “I have been rude to you.”

“‘Rude’,” Lúcio scoffs. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “You told me to back off and then you ghosted me.”

“It was rude of me,” Genji repeats. “I’m sorry.”

Lúcio’s face twists up, and when it settles again, nothing is quite right. “I don’t… Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, ‘okay’. It’s fine. Apology accepted.”

Genji isn’t certain what else he has done wrong. “It does not seem fine.”

He watches, some part of him fascinated, as Lúcio closes his eyes, visibly shoring up his reserves of patience. “I can’t tell what’s a cultural thing and what’s a _you_ thing, but man, I don’t really care that you were _rude,_ alright? Like yeah, ghosting me was shitty, but it would suck no matter how polite you were. So thank you for trying to smooth things over, I appreciate it, but I need a little time before we can go back to some… workplace-appropriate friendship, or whatever.”

“If there is something else I should apologize for,” Genji begins, but he is at a loss for the rest.

Lúcio laughs, tight and impatient. _“No,_ I don’t need that. You can’t control the other parts, and I’m the one who made it weird so, I don’t know, I guess I’m sorry too.”

Genji isn’t certain what Lúcio is getting at, but it feels wrong to blame anyone but himself. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything. I was only—” _rude_ is at the tip of his tongue again, but he side steps that one just in time “—a dick.”

Lúcio laughs again, this time softer. “You said casual, I overstepped.”

There is a minute where Genji has to chew on this. _Did_ Lúcio overstep? He has spent so long internalizing the problem as his own that he failed to account for Lúcio’s role in it. “No,” he says after a moment. “I overreacted. I have never had more than that. Casual. And I have rarely wanted it. And so I was afraid, I think.”

“Afraid of _what?”_ The incredulity is a reminder of how different they are, how much more open he is than Genji. Of course Lúcio wouldn’t know what it is to be led by fear, especially not of himself.

“Afraid to want more. Afraid I have nothing to offer. So when it seemed you might want more, I suppose I feared hoping, and having that hope proven wrong, and it was easier to simply… not.” Lúcio’s eyes narrow on him, piecing together all that he has said, and all that he hasn’t. It still feels incomplete, though. Genji steadies himself. “I think, in trying to protect myself, I hurt you.”

Lúcio chews his lip before he answers again. “Yeah. It kinda sucked.”

“I’m sorry. You deserve better.” It makes him feel strange and exposed, as if Lúcio has removed pieces of his armor again, but it is a relief to say it aloud.

Lúcio seems to disagree. He gives an exasperated huff. “Then _do_ better,” he says, short and impatient.

There is something off about the way he won’t quite look in Genji’s direction. “Do better,” he repeats slowly. He can picture his younger self scoffing at the vague instruction, at the thought that anyone might dare to tell him how to behave. He doesn’t scoff now. Perhaps this is what Zenyatta meant, when he pressed the issue; perhaps Genji has changed enough that the same mistake can still play out differently. “Is that what you want, then?”

“It’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I mean, do you want me to do better because you still want… us?”

“Oh.” Lúcio lets out a quiet huff. “Yeah, I thought that was, uh, sort of obvious by now. I _like_ you.”

Genji knows he’s blushing, as childish as it feels over something so small. He’s warm inside and out, and the fear bubbling beneath it all has quieted down in the face of Lúcio’s confession. “I like you too.”

“Don’t pull that again, though, seriously. Use your words, man.”

“I can do that. I think.”

Lúcio’s biting his lip, looking up at Genji through his eyelashes. “Great. So what do you say to maybe a movie later? You know, like where we don’t just have sex right away.”

“I can do that too.”

“And then maybe we’ll make out after, or during, if the movie sucks, because I’m not saying that stuff’s off limits. I just wanna spend actual time with you.”

Genji thinks his face might break if he smiles any wider. It’s easier than before to remove the faceplate, to bend down until his lips are on Lúcio’s, to seize him by the waist to keep him close.

Lúcio pulls away with a reluctant sound, both hands on Genji’s chest to hold him at bay. “Technically still on a shift. But hey, when I’m done here, I’ll text?” His smile turns mischievous, tilting to one side. “If you find us some good snacks, I’ll even bring the amplifier.”

Genji releases a laugh that feels like finally letting go. “Perfect. That’s perfect.”


End file.
